


you let your grace enrapture

by eudaimon



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-23
Updated: 2010-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-14 00:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eudaimon/pseuds/eudaimon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before he was a stylist, Cinna met a victor at a party.  The rest isn't quite history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you let your grace enrapture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lanyon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, love <3

_Oh, it's evil babe  
The way you let your grace enrapture me  
When well you know I'd be insane  
To ever let that dirty game recapture me_  
\- **Shadowboxer** , Fiona Apple

 

The first time he sets eyes on Finnick Odair is before the Games that he will go on to win. He's beautiful, almost naked, with eyes outlined heavily in kohl and iridescent scales glued in the corner of his eyes. He remembers clearly thinking, _you're beautiful, but I could do better than that_. It's his job to fetch and carry but, sometimes, he gets to linger nearby and Finnick looks up and smiles.

And, from then on, Cinna keeps his eye on the beautiful boy from District 4.  
And he wins, and Cinna never forgets.

It's not really common knowledge what happens to victors in the Capitol, particularly the beautiful ones, but stylists talk and their lackies listen. Cinna hears things about Finnick Odair, who is sixteen now and no less beautiful.

He stands in the corner of a party to celebrate one thing or another and he watches the way that Finnick is passed from hand to hand, group to group, and he watches how Finnick never stops smiling. Cinna himself is neat and dark, his outfit designed to blend in; Finnick catches the light.

There's a lull between courses and they find themselves close. Mimicking something that he's seen his stylist do, Cinna reaches out and smooths a wrinkle from the front of Finnick's shirt.

“You keep looking at me,” says Finnick. “I've noticed.”

Cinna shrugs and looks down through his eyelashes.

“Who wouldn't?” he asks.  
Finnick smiles. His eyes are the glass-green of a calm ocean.

Cinna leans in to straighten Finnick's collar and then he offers him his hand.

“My name is Cinna and, one day, I'm going to choose what you wear, Finnick Odair,” he says.  
They shake hands. He leaves his address behind.

*

His rooms aren't much but he does his best with what he has. He's washing his dishes after dinner when there's a tap on the door. He's barefoot in his apartment. He turns on more lights as he moves through the rooms.

In his own time, standing on Cinna's doorstep like it's the most natural thing in the world, Finnick doesn't catch the light as definitely but he's no less startling. His face is scrubbed clean of paint or make-up. The open collar of his thin shirt shows tan skin. His hair is pushed back from his face in damp furrows. It must be raining in the Capitol tonight.

Cinna steps aside and lets him walk into the room.

“Do you want...”  
Finnick stops his mouth with his. He looks older, but he can only be sixteen or seventeen and he kisses like he's sixteen or seventeen, needy and desperate, just a little bit off centre. Both of Cinna's hands come up, cupping both sides of Finnick's face, forcing the kiss both slower and deeper. They are almost exactly the same height, but Cinna's build is slighter.

He wasn't raised for the arena; nobody ever told him that he was born to win anything.  
But he's always been good at making his own luck.

“Slower,” he murmurs, his lips moving against Finnick's. He feels Finnick's hands slip around his waist and fist in his shirt at the small of his back.

“I want...”

Cinna has long-fingered, clever hands; his mother taught him to stitch when he was just a boy. One hand slips lower, covering the shape of Finnick's hardening cock through his pants. One dark eyebrow twitches and he watches Finnick's eyelashes flutter.

“I think I can guess what you want.”

Finnick shakes his head.

“I want _you_. Right now.”  
It takes Cinna a moment to realise why the emphasis is there. It takes him a moment to consider what it might be like to be beautiful and owned in a place like the Capitol. He studies Finnick's face for a moment, wonders if it might be kinder to send him away.

No. Never.  
What they have is now.

Cinna's bed is wide and low, made up with soft white sheets. He walks Finnick slowly back towards the bed, his hands resting lightly on his hips. There is a hunger in Cinna that he fights to keep in check. He bends his head and kisses Finnick lightly. The backs of Finnick's knees hit the bed and Cinna eases him down to the mattress.

He peels him out of his finely tailored clothes and he is so careful.

“How?” he asks, his voice low, his head down, trailing kisses down along Finnick's ribs. His mouth lingers against his nipple, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. He pretends not to notice the bruises against the side of Finnick's neck, around his wrists.

“Just do it,” mumbles Finnick, his fingers pressed into Cinna's hair. “Make me feel good.”

Always careful, Cinna applies himself to the task. He curls his fingers around Finnick's cock and kisses lower, sliding his mouth down over him. He sucks him slowly, lingers, uses his fingers as well and pushes up a little to make allowances for the lift of his hips. He hums. Above him, Finnick gasps and fingers push into his hair. He squirms, pushes further past Cinna's lips and it's easy to believe that they're just young men together and that nothing was ever ruined.

“Cinna,” gasps Finnick and Cinna looks up to find him pushed onto his elbows, flushed and gorgeous, his hips still rising and falling. He bites his lip, his head falling back and Cinna ignores the warning, stays where he is. A moment later, Finnick comes into his mouth, spills onto his tongue and Cinna swallows with an ease born of practise.

When he's done, he kisses back up Finnick's body. Kissing him without rinsing his mouth is an utterly male thing to do, but he feels no shame, especially not when Finnick kisses him back, one hand cupping his jaw.

“Fuck me,” he says, squirming. “Come on. Please.”  
How is he supposed to refuse a request like that? The words are gasped but there's something so eloquent about the lines of Finnick's naked body, and the look in glass green eyes. How could he say no to something so beautiful?

Later, it will sound like the story of his life.  
Never could say no to beauty.

He takes his time. He lingers until Finnick is squirming and gasping, heels digging into the matress, hips rising up off the bed to push down onto Cinna's fingers.

He makes even the necessary feel good.

Sliding slickly into Finnick's body, he keeps his weight up on his hands so that he can watch the whole thing, watch the way that they fit together so neatly and the way that the muscles in Finnick's belly tremble.

When he starts to move, he bends his head to catch a kiss and they breathe quickly against each other's lips. It doesn't take long; it couldn't take long. They're both wanting too much. He takes care not to slam his hips forward too hard. He takes so much care.

When he's done and starting to roll away, Finnick catches hold of him with fingers curled around the back of his neck.

“Just stay for a minute,” he mumbles, wrapping both arms around Cinna's shoulders.  
He puts his head against Finnick's shoulder.

He stays in the moment because he's been asked to stay.

*

The next time that he sees Finnick Odair, years have passed; Finnick's a mentor, Cinna's a stylist, at last. He wears a little gold to bring out his eyes. Whoever has dressed Finnick has done an excellent job. They pass at a party. When their eyes meet, there is a flicker of recognition. Finnick Odair smiles.

Years later and his beauty is still the talk of the Capitol. Cinna still doesn't choose what he's wearing.

Cinna reaches out and smooths a wrinkle from the front of his shirt; close by an assistant watches his every move.

He moves on, looking for Katniss in the crowd.


End file.
